


moonless

by pratktcven (calciseptine)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 09:56:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11079201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calciseptine/pseuds/pratktcven
Summary: Keith cannot sleep.





	moonless

**Author's Note:**

> why am i posting this at midnight on a friday
> 
>  
> 
> thanks to faorism and blackcatbone for looking this over. you guys are awesome! ♥

The first time Keith wakes up, he thinks little of it. It is not unusual for him to toss and turn before he settles and, as a light sleeper, it isn't unusual for him to wake unexpectedly. So when he does wake—his unconsciousness interrupted by the unknowable—he merely rolls onto his other side,

tucks his arm beneath his head,

and closes his eyes.

.

The second times Keith awakens, he is less lucid.

Sleep clings stubbornly to his eyelids, weighing them down.

He feels overheated and fatigued.

Sluggish.

He struggles to sit up. The muscles in his neck and arms are weakened. His fingers feel numb and he cannot tighten his hands into fists. He fights to peel his thin black undershirt from his body; once free, he tosses the garment in the corner with the rest of his armor.

Then he lies back against the thin floor mattress—careful not to jostle Hunk—and lets dreamlessness take him.

.

Humidity presses down like an unwanted blanket on Keith's sweat-damp body the third time he awakens. He lingers at the edge of consciousness, unmoving and unable to mark the passage of time in the unchanging blackness. It could be seconds—

It could be minutes—

It could be hours—

.

The fourth time, Keith listens to Hunk's soft and steady snoring, and refuses to move.

.

The fifth time Keith's awareness returns—or perhaps it is the sixth?—he hisses in frustration. It is suffocatingly dark in the room they have been given and the night around them does not waver. Yet it is not the darkness that bothers Keith so much as the heat; as the thick stillness of the hour; as the foliage-smothered breeze.

Before tonight, Keith believed he was immune to such intense temperatures. He was raised from infancy in the scorching suburbs of Houston, and at sixteen, he was accepted to the Galaxy Garrison, which was deep in the heart of the American southwest. Then, for nearly a year after being expelled, he squatted in an old cabin that lacked air-conditioning. He never gave thought to how different the high, arid heat of a desert was from the pervasive and unrelenting humidity of a tropical rainforest. He wishes he had. Perhaps that way, he would be more prepared.

Perhaps that way, he would be able to find relief.

Perhaps that way, he would be…

.

When Keith regains consciousness for the nth time, he is exhausted and angry. He can feel the scratch of frustration in the back of his throat. He wants to shout—to release his brittle irritation the quickest way he knows how—but he also doesn't want to wake Hunk.

So instead, Keith channels his emotion into energy.

Rolls off their thin mattress.

Curses uselessly as he stands, "Fuck, fuck, _fuck_."

The hut Keith and Hunk were given for the night is small and open and easy to navigate. The walls and floor are made of wood, and the thatched roof and woven swing door are made of desiccated reeds. Beyond is a narrow porch that encircles the entire shelter, with various rope bridges linking them to the other buildings scattered amongst the tree tops. Shiro and Lance are to Keith's immediate left while Pidge and Allura in front of him.

There is no movement from either hut, and Keith finds himself both disappointed and surprised. He doesn't know why. He hates his inability to fall asleep; he does not want his teammates to suffer the same affliction.

With a sigh, Keith scrubs a hand across his itching eyes and turns his gaze upward. Vines heavy with moss hang beneath colossal boughs, creating a dense network of unvaried shadow. Past that is the canopy, wherein thin gaps between the crown shy trees appear like invisible seams. This planet does not have a ring system nor does it have any natural satellites; the only light comes from the dim and distant stars, flickering white pinpricks pulled into unfamiliar arrangements.

Keith sighs again. Returns his gaze to the impenetrable dark of the forest. Runs his bare hand through his hair. The coarse strands are tangled into clumps against the nape of his neck and they stick unpleasantly to his skin.

_I should just cut it all off,_ Keith thinks. He's let his hair grow unfettered in the last few months; the longest strands hang past the line of his shoulders and the shortest strands brush against the angle of his jaw. _Such a goddamn hassle._

Keith imagines going back into the hut, tying his hair up, and using his knife to rid himself of his ratty mane in one fluid motion. He knows it would be easy. He knows it would be quick. Yet he does not move. He is too tired. The temperature is the same inside the hut as it is outside, and the oppressive humidity makes all movement unpleasant. Besides, Keith _likes_ the wildness of his long hair. If he chopped it off, he would regret his decision as soon as the immediate relief faded.

He lets his hand fall.

It is best not to overthink it.

.

An indeterminable amount of time passes as Keith leans half his weight against the sturdy railing and listens to the cries of the local fauna. It is a cacophony of high shrills and warbling chirps, of echoing wails and deep growls; it emerges from the lush darkness in layers, creating white noise that is both strange and familiar.

Keith stands there until his trembling legs threaten to buckle. Tiredness pulls at him. His body aches from the long day spent fighting wave after wave of Galran sentries and his mind is static, void of anything but disjointed and nonsensical thoughts. He feels as though he could sleep for a thousand years—but he felt that way earlier, after the red sun dipped below the horizon and he stretched out on his borrowed bedding.

"Right to sleep?" Hunk had teased Keith as he laid beside him.

"Yeah," Keith said. "Had a long day."

Hunk pressed himself against Keith's back. Wrapped one burly arm around Keith's waist. Pulled Keith into the cradle of his body and pressed a kiss to the long column of Keith's exposed neck. The heat had been a distant thing, palpable but ignorable, and Hunk's proximity did not bother Keith; instead, Hunk's embrace comforted him.

"Good night," said Keith.

"Sleep tight," Hunk responded.

And between one moment and the next, Keith slept.

.

And between one moment and the next, Keith awoke.

.

Keith sways as he walks back into the hut. His bare feet whisper against the worn wood. He accidentally bumps against the jamb while pushing open the door and he grunts loudly.

Stumbles.

Catches himself and does not fall.

"Keith?" Hunk asks blearily, rolling onto his side. Like Keith, he is clad only in their standard issue undergarments, a pair of body-conforming briefs that hug his hips and cut off an inch past where his thigh meets his pelvis. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Keith murmurs as he shuffles back to their bed. "Sorry." He lies down. "Didn't mean to wake you."

"S'fine." Hunk's assurance is followed by an enormous, jaw-cracking yawn. Without his headband, which he removes every night, his silky hair swings forward against his cheeks. "Nightmare?"

"No," whispers Keith. "Nothing like that. I just… couldn't sleep."

Hunk hums gently and reaches across the small space between them. He curls his hand around Keith's jaw—his palm wide enough to cover the entire lower half of Keith's face—and his callused thumb settles beneath Keith's left eye where the rise of his cheekbone begins. It is not a demand for more, but a reminder.

_I am here for you,_ Hunk says without words. _For everything, big and small._

Keith sinks into the touch. It offers no relief from the pervading humidity, yet the unconditional care behind it offers more comfort than words can express.

"I'm hot," Keith admits sulkily. "And I'm tired. And I want to sleep. But it's like any time I manage to close my eyes, I'm awake in two minutes. And I just—" Keith cuts himself as his complaint edges into a whine. Clears his throat. Starts again, more softly, and says, "It's too hot."

"It is pretty hot," Hunk agrees. Then, with gentle reasonableness, he says, "If you're having problems sleeping, we can go back to the castle-ship."

It is a very tempting offer. Since the castle-ship could not land on this dense jungle planet, Coran took it into the waning exosphere directly above them. He and Matt are aboard; they are probably even still awake, elbow-deep in some machinery that needs attention after the battle they fought. If Keith activates his comm and asks on of them to lower the castle-ship's defenses, he knows he will receive a response.

And as he had earlier with his hair, Keith imagines it. He imagines getting dressed and hiking to the clearing where the lions are resting. He imagines piloting Red into space, docking in the main hangar, and working his way to his and Hunk's climate-controlled quarters. He imagines climbing into their bed and burying his face into his pillow. Yet most of all, Keith imagines his relief and how easily he would fall asleep.

"Fuck," Keith groans. It still takes a considerable amount of willpower to dismiss Hunk's suggestion. "I can't."

"You're exhausted," Hunk murmurs. "And you deserve a good night's rest."

"The Dh'reet gave us their hospitality and their homes," Keith answers diplomatically. There was a reason all the paladins and Allura remained planetside after driving back the Galran squadron stationed here. "If we left in the middle of the night, it would offend them."

It is not a response Keith would have given when he was younger and more mercurial, but his experiences as a paladin have changed him. Time has changed Hunk, too. He is less selfish and less petulant, shaped by his sacrificial duty to Voltron, and he understands Keith's refusal despite its detriments.

"Okay," Hunk whispers as he quietly accepts Keith's decision. "We'll stay."

And as the dark heat of the night folds around them, Hunk's hand slides from the curve of Keith's face to the nape of his neck.

.

Keith sleeps until he does not sleep. He does not know how much time has passed between his short conversation with Hunk and his waking; it is impossible to tell in the immutable blackness that surrounds them.

Next to him, Hunk snores. Keith exhales slowly and matches their breathing. He tries not to think about the leaden heaviness in his limbs as he lingers in the amorphous space between reality and dream. Instead, he opens his dry eyes and focuses on the curve of Hunk's strong, steadfast shoulder.

Reaches out.

Touches the warm skin of Hunk's back.

Closes his eyes and…

.

He sleeps.

.

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me on my voltrash blog, [@pratktcven](http://pratktcven.tumblr.com/about)


End file.
